The Critics Respond, Part Eighteen
Hey, this is a very kind thing to say, but wait a minute --- are there really "Jack Baruth sycophants"?
Now, I will freely admit that I have a certain appeal to certain women. In that way, I'm like the 1994 Dodge Ram. You see, when Chrysler was doing consumer clinics in the early Nineties, they supposedly showed the buyers two different trucks. Truck One was a Dodge Ram that looked pretty much like the Chevrolet or Ford or even the old Dodge Ram. Three-quarters of the buyers said it was nice-looking, one-quarter said it was ugly. However, only one in five buyers said they'd be really interested in having one. Truck Two was the "Peterbilt" truck design that they ended up using for 1994. One-third of the buyers said it was nice-looking. Two-thirds said it was ugly. But almost all of the people who liked the way it looked wanted to buy one.
The lesson that Chrysler learned was this: if you aren't a major player, you can pursue a more dedicated niche of customers and actually increase your sales, which was certainly the case for the 1994 Dodge Ram.
Now, I'm certainly not a handsome man, nor am I particularly easy to get along with. When I'm out and about talking to women in their late twenties to early forties, I'd say that no more than one in three of them has any interest in me whatsoever, because I'm just not that handsome. Compare that to, say, George Clooney, who would have pretty much everyone's interest at some level. But that one-third that does go for me can be remarkably, ah, committed.
Compare me to my brother. Before he became a dedicated family man and all-around nice guy, he was a performing professional musician. A lot of his interactions with women during that period went like this:
BARK M.: I had a really nice time tonight.
20-SOMETHING 8/10: Me too.
BARK M.: In these few hours since you caught my eye down there in the audience, I really feel that we've gotten to know each other.
20-SOMETHING 8/10: Me too.
BARK M.: Well, I hear them starting up the van, so I'd better go. I hope your knees aren't too badly scraped.
20-SOMETHING 8/10: I'll just put some hydrogen peroxide on when I get home. That really was a filthy men's room. Will I ever see you again?
BARK M.: Absolutely not.
20-SOMETHING 8/10: I guess that's alright. What did you say your name was?
BARK M.: (Stumbling towards van drunkenly), Uh, um, uh... Bark... Maruth.
Repeat that ten, or two hundred, times and you get the idea. Isn't that very tidy and enviable? Whereas my typical adult dating experience has been:
JACK: Well, it really is nice to meet you.
SELF-CONSCIOUSLY ARTSY WOMAN WHO READS "DIFFICULT" BOOKS, KEEPS DIARY, WEARS ODD DRESSES, LISTENS TO OBSCURE BANDS: What did you say your name was?
JACK: Jack Baruth, why?
SELF-CONSCIOUSLY ARTSY WOMAN WHO READS "DIFFICULT" BOOKS, KEEPS DIARY, WEARS ODD DRESSES, LISTENS TO OBSCURE BANDS: Can you spell it for me? I want to carve it into my arm with a dirty razor before I call the wedding planner.
JACK: (under his breath) Not again.
This is a state of affairs that I used to bemoan but for which I am now grateful. I'm just not cut out for a lot of one-night-stands with interchangeable people. It's better to really know and like the person I'm with. And I have learned through trial and error that my relationships with totally sane, normal, workaday women have no legs whatsoever. I need someone who has her own thoughts.
Now, it would be nice if I could inspire the same fanatical devotion in my readers, wouldn't it? The problem is that the kind of people who read me tend to be fairly independent and critical thinkers. My compatriots in this business get shit like:
Everything (INSERT NAME OF CONGENITAL FANTASIST HERE) writes is just so funny I can't stop reading it!
I always make sure to read (INSERT NAME OF BLAND INDUSTRY MOUTHPIECE HERE) because he's a really great writer!
When (INSERT NAME OF DICKBAG WHO COULDN'T HOLD UP THE ASS END OF AN SCCA ROOKIE SCHOOL BUT KNOWS HOW TO DRIFT AT 20MPH FOR CAMERAS) says a car is good on a track, you know it is!
I wish they'd let The Stig drive (NAME OF CAR I JUST USED TO SET A LAP TIME WELL AHEAD OF THE FACTORY ENGINEERS) so we could see what it can really do!
Why don't they bring (NAME OF GUY WHO DIED IN ALL BUT BASIC RESPIRATION FUNCTIONS SOME TIME IN 1993) back to the magazine instead of these no-names?
What I always get, however, is some self-made, high-IQ, engineering-or-logic-background guy saying
I don't usually (or always, or ever) agree with Jack, but in this one point I believe he might have something useful to say, with caveats, of course
In other words, everybody else gets the women who fainted at the Monkees lip-sync concerts and I get the beret-wearing beatnik who wants to transcribe Coltrane note-by-note and see when he deviated from the Mixolydian scale.
And you know what? I'm fucking grateful for that, in ways I cannot express. Getting the approval of people like that takes work and suffering and I'll keep working and suffering for it.
Thank you.